Lost My Fear In Your Arms
by Nova802
Summary: And now, a couple hours later as best he can tell, here he is. Safe. Warm. Comfortable. All spooned up with Carol like a kid clutching a favorite toy and when did that happen anyway? A smutty Caryl one-shot rated for sexual content and language. Happy New Year's Day Carylers!


_**A/N: You're meant to start the year as you mean to go on, so here my lovely readers is Caryl smut for you and let's hope that 2013 brings us some nice interactions between the two! Oh and be aware that the 'M' rating is merited. **_

_**All standard disclaimers apply.**_

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**Lost My Fear In Your Arms**

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He's comfortable, maybe that's what wakes him in the middle of the night, breathing easy even through the ache deep in his muscles and the dull throb centered somewhere on the back of his skull. Warm too, the kind of warm that seeps into your bones, the kind of warm you never are surrounded by all that concrete, even in the middle of summer and it takes him a long time to work out why.

The images trickle back in a confused jumble.

Ain't in the prison, that's for one. On a run, formula for Jude, medicine for Beth's cough, ammo if they can find it.

They. _Carol_. His bike, the woman pressed against his back again. _His woman_, though he's not too sure how exactly that happened, only glad that it did.

The two of them at some Mom and Pop store twenty miles out and then too many of the fuckers for him to take on alone, but she's there, handy with the knife now, sticking the last one right up through the back of the head. Geek falls forward and he drops back out of the way, slips on the gore and drops for real, cracking open his head against the stupid fucking countertop.

Bleeding like a bitch all over the place. Her dragging him back to a tiny storeroom. Setting herself to stitch him back together.

Darkness.

He comes to with her cool hand on his forehead and a bottle of water at his lips.

_Safe_, she whispers. _Rest now_.

He does.

And now, a couple hours later as best he can tell, here he is. Safe. Warm. Comfortable. All spooned up with Carol like a kid clutching a favorite toy and _when the fuck did that happen anyway?_ He's on his side with one arm underneath her, the other locked around her middle, pulling her in, a leg tangled up in between hers, her head tucked under his chin, and all of it, her softness, the smell of her soap filling his nostrils, sends a hell of a jolt running through him.

It ain't panic.

Thing is, the two of them haven't...they aren't...well, not yet anyway.

Ain't been no time for much of anything. A few stolen kisses here and there. His hands finding their way around her waist in some back corridor of the prison, brushing the inch of skin where her tank top rides up. Her knee pressing up against his under the table while she smiles down at her plate.

And he likes that, likes it more than he knows how to let on, but he surely didn't expect to find himself bedded down with her any time soon. _Hoped, maybe_, he admits to himself, his breath stuttering out against her neck.

She wakes, giving a gasp and going rigid in his arms and he's already reaching for his bow-he's going to mother-fucking kill whatever the fuck is scaring her when it hits him: it's probably him. His hand flies out blindly and finds her hip to push her away, only somehow he doesn't. He's holding on instead, palm splayed out with his fingertips resting along the crease of her thigh and he can't tell if the drumbeat he feels there is her heartbeat or his own.

Maybe it's not exactly surprising, with the way his thoughts have been drifting and her ass nestled all up into him but his cock twitches-damn thing's got a mind of its own-and she hisses his name, nudging back. Which-_fuuuuck_-sets his fingers to drift south and find the center seam of her thin cotton pants. He scrapes along it all the way to her center with one fingernail, hardly more than a whisper, but she startles at that and they both freeze into place as one second and then another stretches out.

"Can I?" he asks against her ear and waits for her nod before brushing against her again, tracing the line with more pressure, circling up to where her spot is and back down again.

And then she pushes back against him, first so hesitantly that he thinks he must be imagining it but then more firmly, dragging her ass along the hard length of him, circling and then grinding again. Jesus, it feels _good_, so fucking good. Been so long since he's even had the friction of his hand, and this, the heat of her skin burning through their clothes and brush of her tit along the arm that's supporting her and it's all almost too much.

(Especially since any control he might be pretending to have is about three seconds away from spurting out his dick.)

He arches back a little, his already sore head connecting with an audible thud to the wall behind him. Hurts like a sonofabitch, but it's just enough to keep him from coming in his pants. Carol gasps and tries to roll away but he flattens his hand against her stomach and pulls her back towards him firmly.

"M'okay," he reassures her and he can feel her relax back into his arms before a new sort of tension starts to build all over again.

"Daryl, I want...," she asks before breaking off and he can't see much by the sliver of moonlight shining in from the high casement window but he thinks he can see the color rising up along her cheekbones. She swallows hard, lets her eyes flutter closed and then her hand is on top of his own, pushing it back down between her legs.

"Yeah," he replies shortly, his stupid breath half-choking him. He moves back gingerly, encouraging her to roll onto her back, spread out a little on the thin blanket underneath them and then finds her mouth with his own to bury his nervousness. Guided by her, he works open the button and zip and slides his hand inside, past the soft curls, down to where she's wet and needy.

He hesitates. Probably not going to be much good at this, s'nothing like what he's used to, cramped along the bench seat of his pickup with one of Merle's cast-offs who mistakenly think he'll be the one to set them up with a fix. There's no burn of alcohol to distract, no chemicals to cloud things.

And Carol, she deserves...

But there's her arm, wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him back into a kiss, tongue darting out to meet his own and he's chasing the tiny sound she makes when he runs one finger along her slit, dips inside, his thumb circling her bundle of nerves.

_Jesus, fuck_, she's hot and wet around his finger and her hips press up into his hand, asking for more, so he adds another, finding a rhythm that she likes. She throws her head back, exposing her throat and he licks and nibbles his way down, pushing her tank top up and out of the way as he goes. No bra: his head is spinning with that, her pretty little tits right in front of him and he takes advantage, drawing one pebbled nipple into his mouth and laving it with his tongue.

"Oh, oh!" she breathes and he speeds up his motions, curling his fingers, and she's bowing up, grinding into the heel of his hand in earnest, tightening and fluttering around him and he tears his mouth away from her breast because he wants this so bad, to see her face when she lets go. Because of _him_, because of what _he's_ doing. And when she does, shaking like a leaf, a tiny moan escaping from her throat, he just about loses it again.

She's so fucking...he doesn't even know, only that his heart is beating hard enough to bust out of his chest.

"You okay?" he asks when she catches her breath a little and shit, he hates that note of self-doubt that creeps in around the edges.

Of course she picks up on it-woman's some kind of mind-reader, least where he's concerned-but she just draws herself up onto her side and smiles.

"I'm good," she says, reaching out with soft hands and pressing him down onto his back. "Better than good, even."

Her fingers move to the buttons of his shirt and her mouth follows and she's not shy about exploring, tracing the lines of old scars, swiping a curious tongue over a nipple, following the sparse line of hair under his navel to where it disappears at his belt buckle. And then finally, _finally_, she's tugging at his pants, pulling them down and then off, boxers along with them and staring at him like he's dinner.

He don't mind.

It's all he can do to bite back a plea, but his raggedy breath is telling its own tale and his hands too, scrabbling at the blanket beneath him when she touches his cock. She grips him lightly and slides up and down, running her thumb across the head and gathering the bead of moisture there. Dips and follows the same path with her tongue.

"Fuck, _Carol_," he grits out and there's that smile again.

She pushes up and settles on her heels for a second and he reaches for her, but she's just pulling her shirt up over her head and kicking away her pants until she's bare in front of him. Half of him wants to look and look and look until he's seen his fill, but she moves to straddle his thigh and that's good too.

"Daryl?" she asks him quietly, and he thinks maybe she's asking him if he really wants this, trying not to push him for more than he's prepared to give. And shit, he thinks he's probably gonna up and die if he doesn't get inside her in the next minute or so, but it's like her. Considerate.

"I want this...want you," he admits, gripping her hips and encouraging her to rock forward an inch to brush against him. _Always want you_, he adds in his head.

She rises up and hovers over him for a second, and then sinks down slowly, hissing as he fills her and she's tight and wet and goddamn perfect. He runs his hands up her body, cupping her tits and dragging his calloused fingertips along her nipples and she gasps and repeats the motion, her pussy already clenching around him.

She _likes_ it and he concentrates on that, plucking at those stiff peaks, pushing up on one elbow and teasing her with his tongue before using his teeth to gently nip. Anything to take his mind off the coiling burn low in his gut that tells him that this ain't going to last long, 'specially not with the way she's speeding up now, riding him so goddamned good.

His hips snap up to meet hers and fuck, she's letting loose those tiny moans that he already recognizes as meaning she's close. She slides her hands through his hair, tugging almost, and brings his mouth to hers, all tongues and teeth, the kiss frantic and breathless and then, _fuck_, she's got one hand between her thighs, touching herself.

And that's it, that image and he's done, panting and moaning into her mouth, emptying himself into her, but it's all right, because she's there too, coming so hard she's practically vibrating above him, the fingernails of her other hand digging into his shoulder just right.

He's shaking right after, still feeling everything on the surface of his skin, but she tucks herself into his side and gentles him through it, running a soft hand along his bicep and whispering comforting nonsense into his ear. His heartbeat slows, his eyes get so heavy that he can barely keep them open but he still tightens an arm around her-ain't gonna let her go for nothing-and feels her smile against his skin in return.

He was right before, she deserves more than this. A soft bed and clean sheets and time, a lazy afternoon with nothing to do but make each other come apart again and again. Not the hard floor of some storeroom with a half dozen dead geeks outside the door, nor a stained mattress in a prison cell for that matter.

Maybe they'll have a chance for that someday. He hopes so.

S'a good ache though, that feeling in his chest that tells him she'll be staying around anyway.

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_**A/N: So yes, smut **_**AND**_** feelings, even if Daryl barely understands it himself. *sigh* I hope you enjoyed and I'd love your feedback if you're so inclined. **_


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